The Ruby Thieves
by LemonPoppies
Summary: Captain Cedric Crawfish and "Sir" Francis Rebral used to be the best of friends... Until the certain incident occurred.
1. Prologue

The golden sun completely rose over the horizon of Astro-Knights Island, and shone over Kingdom Arturus. The songs of morning birds filled the breezy air as the citizens started to wake up and begin their duties and chores. Among the Arturus castle, the people who lived there did the same.

Matilda, the queen of Arturus, awoke with a start. Sitting up and stretching her arms in the air, she also noticed that her husband, King Richard, had already been awake and off to the throne room. The queen frowned for a moment, but then stopped, as the vivid memories of that dream she had last night came flooding back to her. It was _that_ dream again. She did not know whether she liked or hated it, but it was... enjoyable? It's a shame it was just a dream, though, but as of that time, she decided it was best to keep it to herself. The queen tugged the silky bed-sheets off her bare legs and planted her feet on the carpet floor, then trudged her way up to her mirror dresser.

As the queen stared at herself in the mirror, she began to notice a couple of white strands within her orange hair. She tried not to stare at it by fumbling her hands on the surface of the dresser to find her foundation and lipstick. Once she applied her makeup, her hands scooped up her hair and twisted it into a bun. While doing so, however, her arms were lifted enough so that she could see most of her body, from the thighs up. A sly smirk appeared on her velvety red lips. She loved seeing her petite figure with curves in all the right places.

 _Why waste such a voluptuous body just because I'm aging?_ She thought.

Just after she fitted into her red and white corset dress, a knock at the bedroom door reached her ears. The queen finally picked up her white, elbow-high gloves while walking to her door and hastily slipped them on. Upon opening the door, she tilted her head up to meet the eyes of Lancelot, the captain of the royal guard.

"Good day, your highness," he said in his rugged voice. His dark blue eyes were hard as stone but were polite at the same time.

"Lancelot," the queen simply responded, nodding up at the young man. "Is there something you... you need from me?" Her breath hitched in her throat in the middle of the ironic question, as she, herself, was feeling very... needy. She knows and always had known that at her age, *certain things* will start to become less eventful for her; it's already happened to her husband (who she, mind you, was _forced_ to marry), but why, pray, must it happen to her so soon?

"Why," Lancelot broke into her thoughts, "to check to see if my lady is up and about."

The queen's face lit up. "How considerable of you."

He nodded once. "Aye. It is my duty to service you, after all," he answered nonchalantly.

 _ **Service** me..._ she repeated in her head. The queen bit her bottom lip as he continued, "Anyway, allow me to escort you down to the crown room. Do you have your red rubies?"

"O-Oh, yes," she answered, snapping out of her daze. "Just a moment." She went back to her dresser and opened up one of her drawers, digging around to locate her key for her jewelry box. After unlocking and opening her box, she retrieved her crown's precious rubies. "Here we are," she said under her breath, walking back up to the doorway where Lancelot patiently stood.

"Excellent," he replied, his eyes darting down to the gems, then back to her rosy face. He redirected his stance to turn towards the hallway and added, "Follow me, your majesty."

While the queen trailed behind him down the hall, she couldn't help but swallow down her throat at what had happened a few years back, when a pair of thieves tried to take away her precious rubies. She clutched them tight in her hands, but after a few moments, she smiled about it. Yes, the both of them tried to steal from the queen, but what had made them unsuccessful was what the elder one of the duo did for her.

The one his partner called "Captain".

The more she thought about him, the younger and more lascivious she felt. Her eyes wandered down the back of Lancelot, and she bit her lip once again, this time, even harder. The queen yearned for the same affection the thieves' captain had once given her ever since the incident occurred.

"Lancelot, dear?.." she muttered out of her hot state.

He stopped in his pace and looked at her without any expression. "Yes, my queen?"

Her gaze had grown dark as she studied his handsomely structured face. Lancelot was a man who rarely ever smiled, hence most of the time, he seemed to be very serious about everything.

However, after a moment of listening to her heart pound out of her chest, the queen just shook her head. "Never mind," she finally said, brushing past him.

Lancelot cocked his head to the side while watching her walk away from him. He knew that the queen was a slightly dotty woman, according to the king, which was excusable, but as the times went by, she seemed to be acting a bit more peculiar than the last. As a matter of fact, he was overhearing Sir Cador's conversation with Sir Pellasus the other day about her, mentioning that she was "growing bored of the king". Lancelot didn't know what they were talking about, nor did he know why it was discussed, but at that moment, he was starting to suspect the queen of her behaviour as well. Seeing how far she was walking, Lancelot hurried forth to catch up with her.

* * *

 ***Author's Note***

No, I'm not dead :-P I was just taking a break from Fanfiction, that's all. And since it's been quite awhile since I've written, I want to see if I've improved at all. Please let me know what you think about these chapters; I'd really appreciate feedback! :-)

~PG


	2. Chapter 1

The merchants of Arturus were all gathered around the outskirts of the docks, fidgeting impatiently for their imported goods to arrive. They tried to ignore the chills of the morning winds, as they've been standing there since the sun had begun to rise.

Along the edge of the pier stood a young man gazing off to the world outside of Astro-Knights Island. Gulls glided across the salty air, and the sun-kissed waves laughed across the seas. This magnificant scenery, however, left the man unfazed, as he had been witnessing all this for the last few hours.

He was a man of the middle class; born and raised in Arturus, properly clothed, and extremely intellectual. However, he wasn't familiar with the higher class of royalty. His face was lightly tanned, and his trimmed beard wrapped around his chin and cheeks. While his light orange hair fluttered softly in the wind, his beady eyes glared across the ocean to try and locate the ship. He wasn't a seller, but he was, too, fervently waiting for the overseas delivery ship, for the captain, of course, was a close companion.

The man shoved his hand in the pocket of his vest and pulled out his silver pocket-watch. Just one glance at the time made him sneer, and he jammed it back inside his pocket. _Blasted captain,_ he thought to himself. _I haven't got all century._

He and the captain shared quite a few things in common; both were quick minded, caused a bit of trouble on the pier every now and then, and had a particular fondness of the ocean. The two of them also had different coloured eyes; while the man's left eye was bright lime green, and his comrade's was brilliant sapphire blue, their right eyes were a dull and cloudy grey. Strangely enough, even their right eyes also shared something in common: a prominent scar strayed down to their cheek underneath them, both similar in length and curve. Whether it was a strange coincidence or not, it was unknown how the two men got them.

Tilting his head up, the man suddenly saw the figure of a distant ship, floating towards the pier. A brief smile flashed upon his face before he was joined alongside by one of the merchants. "Finally!" she said, and turned her head halfway to him. "Which island does this root beer come from again?"

Not taking his eyes off the ship, he replied, "Skullduggery. The people there are greatly known for producing the finest in the land of Poptropica."

As the ship finally docked the harbour, more antsy merchants flocked the edge of the docks to start preparing to pick up their imported goods, depriving the man of his seclusion of the spacious pier.

Amongst the ship, the captain lowered the wooden ramp for him and his crew to maneuver the crates of root beer from the ships' cargo to the merchants' carts.

The man tried to push past the crowd to find his comrade. Once he caught a glimpse of the captain through the gaps of people, he began heading towards his direction.

"Cedric," he said, grabbing his attention. "Haven't seen _you_ in hours." He tried not to sound angry at him, but the thought of the time he could have been spending on something else gnawed at him.

The captain, on the other hand, half grinned at him as he hoisted the crate in his strong arms. "Well, if it ain't ol' Francis Rebral," he said, keeping his steady pace towards one of the carts. "I'm doing just fine."

"That's _Sir_ Francis Rebral to you," the man snapped. "What was the holdup?"

"Aye, there was a hiccup at Fort Ridley; a mate knocked over a few crates into the water and we had to fish 'em out before they sunk."

Francis stayed close beside him. "So you're giving these merchants wet crates?" They both stopped in front of the cart, and Cedric proceeded to place the crate atop another that had already been sitting inside the wagon, then looked over at him. "Well, it's better than nothing, ain't it?" He patted the surface of the crate and glanced up at the owner of the cart. "This should last ye about a good couple months, lad."

Rather than thanking him, the merchant just grimaced. "It's about time, pirate," he snapped, and mounted atop his mule before pulling the cart away.

A wry grin appeared on Cedric's face, and he looked back at Francis. "That's one wet crate less," he muttered. Francis stifled his laughter. "That old grouser isn't worth half our time," he stated, walking up to the wooden rail that separated the pier from the rest of the island. He put his hands on it and hopped up to sit on the steady rail. He couldn't help but smile at the feeling of the wind brushing against his face. "Ah... so tell me, you old sea dog, how's the lass at home?"

Cedric's eyes lit up for a split second, altering from bright and dancing to misty and a bit apprehensive. He wet his lips with his tongue and admitted, "I don't know. Elise hasn't been acting herself lately. I'm starting to worry about her."

"Oh no?" Francis kicked his feet in the air below him while staring at him with great curiosity. "How so?"

"The other day," Cedric began, turning around to lean the back of his forearms on the rail, right beside his comrade, "about a week before we left, she developed a strange appetite. At suppertime, she told me she wanted salmagundi and porridge."

Francis was silent for a moment as the wind whisked past both of their faces. A lump rose in his dry throat, but he instantly pushed it down and mumbled, "Is that so?" Before he knew it, he had his eyes glued to the wooden ship which rocked slowly back and forth like a cradle. Leaning his body slightly towards Cedric, he asked with a hint of passion, "Have you two ever... talked about it?"

"No," Cedric flatly responded. "She hasn't really talked to me at all recently." A frown came about, and he stared down at the splinter-ridden planks. "Sometimes I wonder what I did wrong. I'd give up me entire ship to make up whatever it was to her."

His companion gaped his mouth open, but then immediately shut it. _He's not ready,_ Francis thought. He moved his eyes halfway to his direction when he felt him move off the rail. "But enough about me!" Cedric hastily concluded, returning to his light-hearted tone. The look in his eyes said the opposite, however. "How, eh, how is life in Astro-Knights while I was away?"

Francis reluctantly shifted his gaze back towards the ship. The sight of it started to make him uncomfortable, and he didn't even know why. He furrowed his eyebrows at it for the longest moment, as to try to move it with his mind. That would have been such an amazing ability to obtain, for him. If only...

"Francis?" the voice beside him spoke up, making him pivot his head toward him in reaction. There, he first met Cedric's grey and blue eyes, both bright and mysterious. His wavy, dark brown hair was beginning to turn grey, along with his mustache and short-cut beard. He was also so tall that, even when sitting upon the rail, Francis still needed to tilt his head slightly upwards to see his face. Suddenly, he smiled at him and said, "That's _Sir_ Francis to you."

 ***Author's Note***

I may have to discontinue Mordred The Doppelganger for this story; I've apparently lost interest in it. Hopefully, I won't lose interest in _this_ one, either :-P


	3. Chapter 2

Cedric's eyes once again sparkled in amusement before he snickered and shook his head. "Ye still believe you're part royalty, huh?"

Francis scoffed. "Believe?" He leapt off the rail. "What a word! I _know_ that I have royal blood rushing through my veins. One evident piece is that I resemble most of the queen herself. Haven't you noticed?" He put his hands behind his back for his friend to examine his "queenly" features. Cedric was, indeed, keeping his focus him, but rather ambiguously; right when the queen was brought up into the topic, he suddenly had the vivid image of her in his thoughts. Cedric had only seen her once before, when he had last visited Arturus for a royal ball that Francis was formally invited to; he was allowed to bring him as a guest.

The captain moved his fingers up to his mouth at the memory of that very evening. The moment he and Francis were introduced to the queen, he could never forget how she gazed at him. It was as if she were caught in a brief trance, staring at him in great awe and interest. He had no idea why, but it seemed, to him, like she wanted -no- _needed_ something from him. All the other men her grace had bowed before, she hadn't given the dark, sultry gaze towards any one of them except _him._ An inquiry still perplexed him: What did he have that the others lacked?

"Well?" Francis asserted, causing him to snap back into reality. "Do you now see what we have in common?"

Cedric's eyes darted down to his taut chest, then back up at his face. "I don't see it," he commented.

"Wh- NO! Not like that!" The younger man's tone was admonishing, in contrast with his coy gesture of regarding his friend in a modest fashion. "It- It's our hair and skin tone we share. That's where I've been hinting at!" He felt some remorse from snapping like that.

Francis shouldn't have been taken aback by his comrade doubting his beliefs. Others whom he had shared his other theories with were incredulous in response, as well; some of which, including his favourite theory of the existence of extrasensory perception, or ESP. Even so, Cedric was a very close friend, despite having a very distant home island. True, two people did not have to have the same positions, but he strongly felt that he needed support on his behalf, especially from a comrade like Cedric. And in situations like these, Francis had no one else to turn to. A mild shudder trickled down his back at the heavy sigh his comrade made, seemingly in frustration.

Cedric's shoulders drooped down, and his gaze cut to the stony ground below his boots. He then spoke, with affection, "Physical appearances don't say anything."

"Pish-posh," Francis muttered with a wave of his hand, as to shoo away the words, and turned nearly completely sideways from him. "I won't hear this anymore."

"All right," Cedric gave in, raising his broad shoulders once more, "all right. You believe what you want to believe, mate. But I'll have naught judgement in it. Besides, what you believe is all that matters."

A crooked grin appeared on Francis's face in satisfaction. "That's just like you... isn't it, Cedric?"

A mere spark of bliss arose in between the two as yet another cool wind pushed past them. Unanswered, he breezily continued, "Let's endure this at the inn later on. I've got some news to tell you, as well." He nodded at the stationed wooden ship as his hasty gesture. "Go on, get your things. I need to meet up with someone, anyway."

Cedric strode towards the docks a couple steps while he was talking, but paused at the final remark. "Who?"

Francis chewed on his lip, then retorted, "Never mind that, just go." His right hand flew up to the chest pocket of his vest, and he tapped his fingers on the smooth surface of his pocket-watch that peeked out. "I've a tightly scheduled meeting with her and I don't wish to keep her waiting."


	4. Chapter 3

Cedric explored the room with his vision, gathering every detail of the ornate interior he could fathom. As he was doing so, Francis kept his diversely coloured eyes up on him intently. His longing stare was distant but rather harsh, though not intentionally directed towards the man on the opposing side of the table. "It's not your first time in here, you know," he commented. This bleak quip did not faze Cedric, but he simply replied, "It's been awhile since I've set foot in the Crop Circle Inn." He then faced Francis in an unhurried turn. The countenance he was greeted with nearly startled him. He rolled back his shoulders and continued with his formal tone. "Nothing's really changed."

Only a slight tilt of the head was the initial reaction. Not even his expression shifted in the smallest feature.

Cedric rapped his fingers on the sleek hardwood of the tabletop, switching his gaze down to his plate. It was upon a white laced mat, riddled with a few past food stains. His half-eaten meal lay atop, which heavily stood apart from that of Francis, as he had barely touched his. In conclusion, Cedric's eyelids moved down halfway, and he bluntly asked, "What's bothering you? I thought you wanted to come to the diner with me."

In an instant, Francis flushed in both embarrassment and disgruntlement, and he repressed his cold stare. "I..." he stuttered, thinking that he'd insulted him, "I-I'm sorry, it's just that... she-"

"Who is she?"

He dared not to look at him in the eye as he forced the truth out of his mouth. "She... she laughed at my theory."

Cedric arched an eyebrow. "What theory? What are you talking about?"

"I've told someone else that I was in relation with the queen." Francis looked down at his plate when Cedric buried his face in his hands. He said, "I- I just thought that she would believe-"

"Who is she?" Cedric firmly asked again, peeking at him through his fingers.

"Gayle."

His eyebrows shot upward as he erected his back in both shock and disbelief. "Lady Gayle!" he nearly shouted. Francis knew that this would infuriate him. Even if Cedric was not native to this island, almost everyone knew of the duchess of Arturus and who she was.

Cedric was truly ready to chastise his friend. He could not let his obscene imagination spread any more than it had been. The analysis of Francis and the queen looking alike would have been interesting the first days he had mentioned the matter; not very believable, but much more captivating than now, at least. Perhaps they could even joke about it here and there. Jumping to the bound conclusion that they were related was what made it monotonous and too far-fetched. Right as Cedric was about to open his mouth to tell him this, however, a new face stepped in to the conversation.

"What is this?" he said.

This man looked to be middle-aged, somewhat older than Cedric. He had whitish-blond hair that softly curled away from his face, and he wore loose brown robes to cover the majority of his body below his neck. Cedric also noticed that his gaze instantly held attention towards Francis who, in return, also looked up at him.

"Oh, hello, Arthur," said Francis, in a distant tone. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Francis, my boy," Arthur greeted him with a nod, "Are you still spreading your little rumors about 'ESP'?"

The young man responded in a forced laugh. "Of course not! As a matter of fact, I hadn't brought it up at all." His eyes were avoiding direct eye contact.

Arthur frowned. "I shouldn't hear of the matter at all, young man. A sixth sense is merely an impossibility; there would be no point of proposal for a theory without evident support," he inquired, and walked away as he shook his head in utter disbelief.

Francis glared in the direction he was descending in, and muttered, "And you believe in alien life beyond the stars."

Cedric also watched the man walk away until he turned a corner, then faced his comrade once again. "Do you know him?"

"Sometimes I regret doing so," Francis asserted. Another flame flickered inside himself, but refrained from giving away another nasty glare. Him and Arthur had a brief but abhorrent history. Francis evaded thinking any more about him after their every encounter, other than mentally referring him as a "senile old bastard", knowing that Arthur had thought similarly about Francis. He loathed the way Arthur thought; always so down to earth, there has to be a 'logical scientific explanation' for all occurances, and so forth. To make his own matters worse, whatever theory Francis inquired, Arthur would be there to shut it down, whether it was "physically impossible", "looking over an obvious fact", or anything else among those lines. His words would always tend to stain Francis in his mind, so every discouraging remark he heard from him would leave Francis scowling in his direction. But, moving his eyes back towards Cedric, he eventually stopped right before his face burned with embarrassment. "Sorry," he mustered to say.

"Anyway," Cedric began a new subject, "what was that news you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh!" Francis quickly straightened up his back. He laced his fingers together atop the table while he scanned his comrade with excitement. "Yeah... Did you hear about the queen?" Seeing Cedric's unintended smirk flash on his face, which tilted slightly downwards, his friend proceeded to reveal:

"She's getting married to the Duke of Avalon!"

Suddenly, warm blood rushed through Cedric's face, and his heart skipped a beat.

"...What?" he stammered.


	5. Chapter 4

The young queen watched as the duke bowed before her. He was quite a handsome fellow, but still, she had no emotions for him yet.

"Your highness," the duke spoke, "I am Sir Richard of Avalon. I have participated as commander of many battles, and defied many enemies with my armies. Now, after riding day and night towards this great kingdom of Arturus, I ask for your lovely hand in marriage."

Matilda had no idea why this marriage was even necessary in the first place. Had this duke, somehow, fallen in love with her, or was it something else; Power? Wealth? Adoration? Perhaps. But the queen desired something other than whatever he had in mind: attention.

The queen enjoyed it when people would look at her. She was not narcissistic, but rather an extreme extrovert. She wanted people to acknowledge not just her as a queen, but her as a person. Of course, the duke had acknowledged her very existence. Somehow.

Now, having a husband, Matilda knew that she would crave much more than attention from him: affection, to say the least. A chill ran through the queen the more she looked into her future alongside Sir Richard. She hoped with all her heart that he would treat her as the fair maiden she was, regardless of her authority of the vast, divine land of Arturus.

A nervous smile broke upon the queen's lips. "Uh," she stuttered, feeling the duke's lackluster green eyes testing her. Her lips twitched and tried to curve into a forced smile. It was a struggle for her, though. As charming as this duke really was, the queen couldn't find the faintest tint of joy to show. With a huff, she strutted down her throne, past the duke, and left the room without a single word.

The duke's eyes followed her until she disappeared out the door. He hadn't done anything to insult her, he didn't think. Richard has actually been preparing all morning that day to create the perfect introduction towards her grace. Hours and hours in his bedroom, in front of his mirror, he constructed this one opening line like it were a very important play. He strode a few steps towards the doorway, but his feet froze in the center of the floor, leaving him posed there in a display of humiliation.

* * *

The queen lie on her silk bed sheets with one arm sprawled out, and the other across her stomach. She aimlessly stared at the ceiling. Though it was a blank white, she could not stop seeing images on it. The one picture she envisioned the most was of that dashing fellow from her most recent ball; his shorter friend had introduced him to her, but she couldn't remember a word that came out of his mouth. The way that he just looked at her with his grey and blue eyes made her face burn, and her heart race through her body. Matilda tried to picture Sir Richard beside his image, and surely enough, it was easily rivaled by the other fellow's.

She felt a little guilty of pouring more attention towards him, though. She didn't even know his name (his friend might have told her, but she was too distraught to listen). He also had the taste of a serf, judging by his rags, and contrasted greatly from Sir Richard. After little mind of this, Matilda scoffed to herself. _Who said I had to fall in love with someone with the high class?_ She asked in her thoughts. The fellow could live in a hovel made of bark and debris, and she could still fall in love with him. It was acknowledged that the law wouldn't allow this, however. It was nice being queen, but if Matilda had to be physically thrown out of the castle just for her to meet with the fellow again, then so be it.

Matilda grabbed one of her haughtily laced pillows by the flare and embraced it against her chest. The bed sheets and pillows were made as soft as clouds, but the queen endured guilt being stressed upon her. If little things seemed to matter so much to her, then this was a crushing feeling. She was just so compacted within the large room, but also knew that a decision had to be made.


End file.
